


Confidence Interval

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junhui has memories. Then he has Wonwoo. Also he gets laid. Winners all around!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confidence Interval

It’s been two years but Junhui still masturbates to the feeling of Mingming’s hand touching him.

He didn’t mean for things to work out like that, but that’s reality. Some of them have porn collections on their hard drives, and the other members accept their flimsy excuse of ‘I don’t want to bother anyone with the noise from the movie’ when they lock the door behind them, laptop in one hand. Some of them have a favourite celebrity, make up fantasies of an ex, and they have shower drains to take care of the evidence or wads of tissues handy.

Junhui, for all his faults, has memories of Yao Mingming.

He’s re-lived that feeling of skin on skin so often he feels like it shouldn’t still seem exciting. Luckily, he’s got a lot of memories. His skin receptors still fire with just the thought of Mingming’s fingers, light and dextrous, the recollection still making him feel so so good. It’s something electrical, simultaneously winding him up tight and utterly relaxing him, a sensation that builds deep inside.

All it takes is him closing his eyes, the background noise fading as his concentration narrows in on the sense of touch, and the sensations he remembers become so tangible that it’s almost like Mingming’s actually still around. It’s probably a little wrong of him, to think of Mingming as not really gone because Junhui imagines him right there, beside him, at least once a week. That’s not to say Junhui doesn’t miss him. He does. Mingming was really important to him emotionally. And physically. Is still important physically.

 

* * *

 

_The door to the room opens and closes with a little whine, the unoiled hinge squeaking and startling Junhui, whose eyes fly open. The rest of his body freezes, and he’s glad he’s got the blankets over him so they can cover up the fact that one of his hands is down his pants, held over the crotch of his boxers, and he’s hard as all hell._

_“Should I have knocked?” Mingming jokes, a mischievous grin on his face as he shakes water droplets out of his hair. “To make sure you weren’t jacking off first?”_

_“Haha,” Junhui kind of says, kind of breathes. It’s a joke they make often, in Mandarin so the others don’t understand, and Junhui always laughs despite the fact that he never found crude humour funny before he got past Mingming’s cute face to his salacious interior. It’s not really possible to laugh right now, not when that would involve moving his entire body. He can’t risk rubbing up against his own hand or creating friction with the fabric, not anymore._

_“Wait,” Mingming says, narrowing his eyes. It makes his face even more feline, and it’s just so goddamn pretty._

_There is a part of Junhui stuck on being annoyed with Mingming for interrupting his ‘me time’ that does battle with the part of his self-control trying to will himself to not be so aroused, and its this self-combat that distracts him so he misses the way Mingming’s smile turns sinister._

_“Oh my God,” Mingming says delightedly, locking the door behind him. Shit, Junhui was supposed to do that before he got on the bed. “Are you actually jacking off?”_

_Seeing as Junhui hasn’t moved a finger for the last few moments, he feels like he can truthfully say, “No, I’m definitely not.”_

_“You fucking liar.” Mingming laughs, pounces forward, until he’s hovering on all fours over Junhui’s (very very still) body, tearing away the blankets._

_A big cat then. Predatory. Rawr._

_Mingming’s fingernails dig into his forearm, and Junhui squeezes his eyes shut. If he doesn’t see his own hand cupping his balls, it means that it’s not actually happening, regardless of what Mingming says._

_But Mingming doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even laugh again, just yanks Junhui’s arm up until both the backs of his hands are flat against the sheets, palms upward like his entire body is a sacrifice, an offering that Mingming can take whatever he wants from. Junhui opens his eyes and tries to relay that last part to him, but Mingming doesn’t look like cares, kneeling with one shin on either side of Junhui’s thighs, face determined. “Is this okay with you?”_

_If Junhui weren’t completely terrified, Junhui would reach up to feel the firm muscles of his quadriceps, squeeze his ass if he dared, as a physical means of saying yes. (It was a really nice ass, Junhui’s seen it in action on the dance floor, has gotten up close and personal with it on entirely innocent terms.) (Thinking about Mingming’s ass makes Junhui harder still and he can’t suppress the wiggle in his hips.) “Please,” Junhui says, a little bit eager puppy._

_There’s a flicker of something in Mingming’s eyes, and it’s like a switch has been flicked on. He moves quickly, assuredly, pulling down Junhui’s pants to his knees. The look on his face is thoughtful as he presses the heel of his palm at the seam of Junhui’s boxers, running his hand upward over Junhui’s cock until his knuckles hit the waistband and he curls his fingers in. He does it again, this time watching Junhui’s face, taking in the upward tilt of his chin, the exhale of breath through slightly parted lips. Mingming’s fingernails scrape against his skin, and his boxers are shoved down to his legs as well._

_Junhui turns his head to the side, cheek rubbing against the pillow. His hands want to grab onto something, so he holds onto the edges of the mattress, and it anchors him._

_“You’re very…” Mingming runs a single finger along the side of Junhui’s cock, slow and steady, with light but even pressure._

_“What?” Junhui asks breathily, sneaking a glance. Mingming looks like a cat about to eat a bowl of cream. He looks hungry and delighted all in one. He looks hot, as always. And then he licks his tongue over his bottom lip and Junhui’s brain short circuits, making whatever it is Mingming has to say very difficult to process._

_“Very big,” Mingming finishes finally, finger trailing down the other side. “Ve-ry.” He pauses, retracting his hand to push himself up by leveraging Junhui’s bare thigh. “You know what will make this better? I’ll be right back.”_

_He’s up and standing within seconds, and Junhui has no idea what the answer to his question was but he doesn’t get a chance for clarification before Mingming slips out the door, pulling it ajar only as far as to let himself squeeze past, before slamming it shut again. Junhui can’t do much about it because his cock is out in the open air, and he’s very much not in a state to be running around the dorms. Junhui tries closing his eyes and counting backward from one hundred, but it’s futile because the backs of his eyelids are playing a movie, today’s showing, Yao Mingming staring at his dick like it was genuinely a gift from the heavens._

_“Hand cream,” Mingming announces upon his return, uncapping and pumping lotion into his palm before tossing the bottle onto his own empty bed and returning to his place at Junhui’s legs._

_It goes on cold and slightly unpleasant, but the initial discomfort wears off as Mingming’s hands provide warmth and contact. He’s right, it does make things better, Junhui’s never thought to use something other than his own hand (and maybe his own saliva if it came down to it) to jerk himself, but it helps him feel literally everything, and there’s no catching nothing rough, just a slick sinful pleasure from Mingming’s hand wrapped around his cock and pumping up and down._

_“Jesus, you’re so fucking hard,” Mingming mutters, the disbelief and awe changing the set of his jaw and doing something weird to the half-smirk forming on his lips._

_“And you’re,” Junhui pants, bucking up into Mingming’s hand, “You’re not?”_

_“God no, I’m so exhausted, I could fall asleep halfway through helping you get off if I didn’t think that would be cruel, even for me.” He’s a little wry. “I can’t get it up when I’m this tired, or were you unaffected by the seriously gruelling dance practice we just had?”_

_Junhui’s not articulate enough to explain himself at this point, and he’s not entirely sure it would help, anyway, to tell his best friend that he had been so tired he was too tired to sleep by the time he got into bed, and then Mingming had announced he was going to shower, so of course Junhui was going to imagine him naked under the stream of water, imagine kissing him under the showerhead, imagine his own naked body pressed up against Mingming’s while steam rose around them._

_Honestly, his imagination could not have beat this. Damn, was he ever going to get off this good again?_

_It shouldn’t have been that surprising. Mingming was always very attuned to his own body. That at least partially contributed to how good he was at controlling all of his movements, each limb in precisely the correct position for every dance choreography. Naturally he was probably phenomenal at getting himself off, it was just, whatever he was doing was also translating into blowing Junhui’s mind._

_As if he knows exactly what Junhui’s thinking, Mingming whispers, all casual and sultry at the same time, “Enjoying yourself?” Most of his weight is bearing down on the arm not currently in use, so he’s leaning to the side slightly, and the tilt of his head makes his bangs fall diagonally across his forehead. It frames his eyes just so, those eyes that stare into Junhui’s own and lay him bare, as if he’s not nude and vulnerable enough beneath Mingming. He wishes there could be a video of this, so he could replay it again and again in his mind. The scene in and of itself was enough to get him to climax, no touching necessary._

_Junhui nods vehemently, accidentally making a whining noise that he’ll never admit to later. “God, yes. So good.”_

_Junhui’s abdomen starts to contract, and he drags his foot up, toes curling into the sheets, one leg bending at the knee. He’s close, so close, and his eyes flutter to a close, breath caught in his throat. And Mingming’s hand disappears._

_“What the fuck?” Junhui forces out, breathing harsh and ragged._

_Mingming hums, moving his hand up Junhui’s shirt, tickling against his skin, so his thumb can flick against one of Junhui’s nipples, the other hand wrapped around Junhui’s thigh, just above the knee that’s still straight. “Trust me, the wait is worth it.” His smile isn’t mischievous or suggestive. It’s just happy._

_The fingers still playing with his nipples are shooting sparks of desire and delight straight to Junhui’s dick, but it’s not nearly enough and he feels mostly wrecked, partially devastated, and utterly unable to voice his disappointment as he slips from the peak._

_Slowly, Junhui’s breathing evens back to a quick clip instead of a hopeless mess, chest rising and falling. When Mingming is satisfied that Junhui’s pulse isn’t going to jump out of him, he returns his hand to Junhui’s cock, starting to build a rhythm again, slow and steady._

_Again, every snap of Mingming’s wrist, the twist of his fingers, his thumb rubbing over the slit, the back of a nail sliding against the prominent artery, or his other hand gently held around his balls – it was all taking Junhui closer and closer to a cliff he never even knew existed. Mingming could do no wrong, drawing out moans stemming from deep within Junhui’s chest, and eliciting a level of desperation for orgasm that Junhui didn’t know could exist._

_His own right hand would never match up after this._

_But Mingming wasn’t going to even have a right hand, because Junhui was going to chop it off. He had taken his hand off again as soon as the muscles in Junhui’s thighs had tightened, and Junhui unabashedly whimpers at the loss._

_“Mingming,” he whines, and it comes out like he’s begging. Which he isn’t above doing at this point, he just really wants release._

_“Junhui?” Mingming mocks, and sticks his tongue between his teeth._

_Junhui was so sensitive now that his dick could feel the the vibrations from Mingming’s voice when he talked, and every brush against his skin was another push toward that hill he kept sliding back down instead of over._

_Mingming’s hand forms a tight ring and he lets Junhui thrust upward into it a few times, before pinning him down with his thighs, and using two hands to rub up and down his length. It feels almost too much, too good, too much feeling, too much something, anyway, and he’s been way too close for way too long that he can only gasp and clench and focus on the surging tightness inside him._

_Junhui lets out a strangled cry when he finally comes, thick and hot and seemingly endlessly, into Mingming’s hand._

_“Holy shit, that was so fucking hot,” Mingming says, collapsing backward at Junhui’s ankles. “I’m going to be supporting a semi all day tomorrow just thinking about it.”_

_Well that made two of them. Really, it should have been him who said that. Junhui can’t reply, too busy trying to remember how to breathe while Mingming cleans him up and stumbles off to dispose of things as appropriate._

_When Mingming returns, he doesn’t bother with separate beds, choosing instead to slip underneath Junhui’s covers and sliding down so Junhui, now re-clothed. He snuggles into Junhui’s chest, using his shoulder as a pillow, and lets Junhui desperately wrap his entire body around him. It’s not really cuddling so much as it is clinging, because Junhui is never ever going to let Mingming go._

_“Next time can you choose a time of day when I’m not boneless and exhausted so we can jerk each other off?” His voice is quiet and sleepy and Junhui tightens his hold around Mingming’s back even more._

_There’s an ache in Junhui’s chest. “With pleasure.”_

_Mingming teaches Junhui all the delights of edging, teaches Junhui that he enjoys the taste of cock, as long as said cock is attached to someone he likes, teaches Junhui what it’s like to be with another man, teaches Junhui what it means to be completely alone._

 

* * *

 

Junhui’s two minutes in with his pants down, and he’s 99% sure that he locked the bathroom door. It was 100%, but there are suddenly someone else’s fingers tangling with his own, and the steady presence of a body pressed against his back, so by logic, Junhui’s had to knock down a percentage point.

“May I?” Jeon Wonwoo murmurs against the shell of Junhui’s ear, air tickling Junhui’s skin, nose pressed against the side of Junhui’s head. What are you supposed to say when the hottest member of your band, nay, the hottest guy you’ve ever met asks if he can jerk you off? Especially when you haven’t had anyone else in two years, when you’ve been lonely and miserable and are, at present moment, hard and trying to achieve the same purpose anyway.

“Yes,” Junhui squeaks, and Wonwoo takes control. Junhui relinquishes it gladly, really, lets his own hand fall to the side. Wonwoo begins by spitting into his own palm, and the moment Wonwoo’s fingers circle around him, slick with saliva, Junhui feels his eyes roll back in his head.

God. Fucking. Damn.

Memories did not do this feeling justice.

Having someone else’s hand around your cock was unbelievably better than your own. It was the intimacy, the trust you had to place in someone to not fuck up a very important part of your body, and the unpredictable nature of what they were going to do. Take now, for example, as Wonwoo’s thumbnail runs from just underneath the head of his dick to the base, not hard enough to be considered a scrape, but not lightly enough to be just a tingle.

Where Mingming was always playful and teasing, Wonwoo’s hand is firm but calm. There’s a kind of confidence to the way he pumps Junhui’s cock, like he knows this is making Junhui feel unbearably good. And as if Wonwoo didn’t already have a hot enough face, that killer attitude somehow makes him even more attractive. Junhui keens a little, letting his head drop back against Wonwoo’s shoulder and Wonwoo’s hand picks up the pace. His other hand comes to rest below Junhui’s balls, like he’s holding them in place. He presses a finger at the skin just behind them, and Junhui’s entire body jilts a little, like he’s dancing but not of his own volition. Wonwoo chuckles lowly, and does it again without Junhui even needing to ask.

Junhui moans, loudly, forgetting where he is momentarily, and the sound echoes against the tiles. He adjusts his stance, spreading his legs a little, and there’s a long hiss in his ear as he feels something hard press against his ass. Junhui whimpers a little more, feeling the firmness of Wonwoo’s dick behind him. He gently shifts his hips backward, circling slightly, and Wonwoo’s grip around him slackens temporarily as he grinds himself up against Junhui.

Junhui makes sure to roll his hips after that, with each tug of Wonwoo’s hand against his cock, meeting him with a forward thrust as his fingers slid down the skin, followed by a backward arch against Wonwoo’s erection.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Wonwoo mutters, and he doesn’t stop moving his hand up and down Junhui’s dick, but he slows a little as he tries to undo his belt with one hand, and unzips his fly before shoving his boxers down with his jeans.

There is a certain degree of coordination and dexterity involved with jacking off two dicks at the same time, Junhui thinks, coordinating that he does not possess on a good day, much less when his head is in the clouds as it is, mostly drunk on the waves of pleasure coursing through him. He’s willing to hedge that Wonwoo feels the same way, when he gets spun around so they’re facing each other, almost nose to nose.

Junhui really likes that there’s a question in Wonwoo’s eyes, asking for permission, even as his tongue darts out between his lips, gaze trailing down to Junhui’s mouth and back to his eyes repeatedly. That request for permission eases out the very last bit of tension between Junhui’s shoulder blades, and he thinks he’s ready to give Wonwoo the entire world on a string now. Wonwoo’s manoeuvered them so he can wrap one hand around both of their cocks now, and Junhui shifts his hips forward so his cock can rub against the front of Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo lets out a soft gasp, and Junhui takes the opportunity to lean forward, cover Wonwoo’s mouth with his own, and slip his tongue inside.

Wonwoo lurches forward a little, and the movement of his hand loses its rhythm a little. Junhui stabilizes the both of them by brining both his hands to cup around Wonwoo’s face. It helps them balance, and it lets Junhui kiss him fiercely without fear, their tongues entwined, lips sliding against each other’s. A trail of saliva hangs between them for a moment when they break apart and Junhui wraps his arms around the back of Wonwoo’s neck, pulling him forward. He can barely breathe, he feels sky high.

There’s a swirl of a tongue just above his collarbone, Wonwoo’s head bowed down. He licks at the junction between Junhui’s collarbones, and presses a kiss there, and then another slightly higher, and then just one more for good measure. He bites at a spot on Junhui’s neck, the pressure strangely pleasant, before replacing teeth with tongue, and then tongue with mouth to suck at that spot hollowly. When he raises his head again, his lips are so lovely and pink, covered with saliva, his cheeks are tinged with redness, and the look in his eyes, even half-lidded, is so erotic Junhui has to lean forward to kiss it off his face.

He’s determined, nipping at Wonwoo’s bottom lip, letting their lips touch chastely once before turning his head in the other direction to get a better angle, and gently coaxes out Wonwoo’s tongue with his own.

Kissing Wonwoo is better than eating candy, and it briefly makes Junhui’s brain forget about Wonwoo’s hand. But his body is still responding, trembling at being forced to remain standing when it wants to collapse and abandon anything that’s not Wonwoo pumping his cock. It was completely unfair that Wonwoo was this talented at everything he did.

The sound of Wonwoo’s hand moving, combined with the spit and the precome, is a steady beat-beat that’s only marginally slower than Junhui’s heart rate. He feels himself tightening somewhere between his legs, shifts his weight, and digs his fingers into Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo has to force out a “Close?” between pants, eyes trained on Junhui’s.

“Hnngh,” Junhui says coherently, hips bucking erratically, and moans madly.

Wonwoo is ready for him, muffling his yell with his mouth, other hand waiting. He pumps Junhui through even the after shocks of his orgasm. Junhui watches wordlessly as Wonwoo uses Junhui’s come as lubricant of sorts, smearing it over his own cock and letting his hand rub the sticky mess over the head.

It makes the inside of Junhui’s mouth dry, so dry he can’t swallow even though he really really wants to, and it becomes entirely impossible for him to hold up his own weight, so he rests the side of his head against the space between Wonwoo’s neck and shoulder, breathing heavily against the jut of Wonwoo’s larynx. Wonwoo lifts his chin to accommodate Junhui, or because he’s straining, because he comes like that, and it makes a mess on the floor.

Junhui bends down to clean things up with a paper towel, and when he looks up, Wonwoo is licking off the remnants of mixture of Junhui’s come and his own from his fingers, a quiet sort of satisfaction in his expression. Junhui’s entire throat is like the Sahara Desert now.

“Thank you?” Junhui says hoarsely. He’s not entirely sure if that was a compliment. He’s also not entirely sure what the appropriate response is to receiving a handjob from your friend. Which, funny, because this isn’t the first time it’s happened to him.

“What’s a helping hand between band mates?” Wonwoo says lightly, nudging Junhui with an elbow. He turns on the tap to wash off his hands, and flicks his head sideways to fix his bangs. Their eyes meet in the mirror. “Besides, us guys in the public eye who like other dudes, we have to watch out for each other, right?”

“What.” Junhui’s so taken aback by this that he doesn’t have time to make the inflection of his voice reflect a question.

Wonwoo swivels around on the balls of his feet and idly scratches at the side of his nose with the tip of one finger, blinking quickly. “Am I wrong? I kinda think I can’t be wrong after just that. I have a pretty uncannily good sense for these things, but like, people can make mistakes.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, unless it was that you didn’t know I was gay. Well, I am.”

Junhui tilts his head, looks up at the ceiling, blinks, and then looks back down. “I just didn’t think it was possible…”

“Statistically speaking, at least one tenth of the world’s population is gay, and that’s only extrapolated from self-report. Considering there are probably a lot of closeted people out there, the actual parameters are probably a larger fraction. Two out of thirteen isn’t that improbable. Three out of seventeen isn’t that far off either.” Wonwoo takes a step forward and lays his head down on Junhui’s shoulder.

“Three?” Junhui wonders.

“Mingming. Was I wrong about that one too?”

“No…” Junhui confirms, a teensy bit wondrously. “We…” Hm. Words are hard.

Wonwoo straightens, searches for something in Junhui’s face. Junhui doesn’t know what he’s looking for, so he looks back and tries to be as open as possible.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says, and prods a single finger into Junhui’s chest. “Look, I know it seems like it’s a situation where there aren’t that many options between your own hand or nothing at all, and definitely not normal people dating…and I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, I swear I’m not going to be offended or make things difficult for you if you say no, but…I liked that, and I like you. And I’d really like it if we continued on the regular?”

Junhui nearly swoons. Nearly. “Can I put my mouth on your dick?” He blurts out. “I mean. Uh. Me too. That was really amazing and I’d like that too.”

Wonwoo beams. “Good. Can we stop standing around in the bathroom now? There’s a very comfy cushion out in the main room for you, and an even comfier Junhui-shaped pillow for me.”

“How can you be so lethargic all the time,” Junhui mutters under his breath, “but still manage to be freaking amazing at everything.” He loops an arm around Wonwoo’s neck and drags him out the door.

Junhui’s got Wonwoo now. And Wonwoo has him.

**Author's Note:**

> in the distance, there are voices calling out. if i strain my ears, i can make out something that vaguely sounds like, ‘but nisa, what about That Fic you’re supposed to be working on?’
> 
> but the voices sound like many things. the noise i hear could also be 'but nisa, why are you even writing fic, like, seriously, what the fuck are you even doing???'.
> 
> i shrug my shoulders, unable to decipher the true words nor their meaning. if i pretend not to hear anything, maybe it'll all go away. or maybe my conscience will take over, whispering the words 'but nisa, you promised to write S a fic'.
> 
> i look around, wondering if anyone's watching. it doesn't matter. i'm going to roll down this hill into a pile of food waste and medical refuse. the recyclables have been sorted out. good, because i belong in the trash bin.
> 
> ((honestly this was so niche  
> and accidental  
> but this is who i am as a person  
> a constant and intense internal conflict  
> between mingry and wonhui.   
> that and sad handjobs))


End file.
